Annie's Story
by WhoNeedsReality
Summary: Annie Cresta has never believed anything out of the ordinary can happen to her- she knows how every mundane detail of her life is supposed to work. So when she is reaped for the 70th Annual Hunger Games, she is thrown into a sinister new world full of any manner of dangers- and Finnick Odair. This is Annie's story: her games, her rebellion, her love. (Longfic, from pre HG to MJ.)
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Hey guys, how amazing was Catching Fire?! Anyway, I hope you enjoy my take on Annie's story, but please let me know in reviews what you think- should I continue? Now, please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games franchise belongs to the wonderful Suzanne Collins. I own only my original characters and storylines.**

The sand shifts beneath me as I flop down on the ground next to Eric, my back against a rough weatherworn boulder. He grins his crooked grin and I reach out and ruffle his already tousled black hair. "Nice look, fish-face," I say, laughing. He wipes the grease and crumbs- from the fish and chips he's been eating- off his mouth with the back of his hand by way of a response. "Alright, Annie?" he asks. I shrug as an answer. Eric nods, understanding my nonchalance. It's the night before reaping, and Eric and I are at our District's annual party to celebrate the Games. Most districts, I assume, don't greet the annual bloodbath with such relish, but in the career districts- 1, 2 and mine, 4- they are an event that merits celebration. Personally, the idea of having to kill 23 other kids doesn't seem so thrilling to me, but just about everyone else in the District, my parents included, couldn't be more pleased. It makes me nauseous.

"Annie? Hey, _Annie_! Annie, are you even listening?"

I blink awake from my reverie, and turn to Eric. "What? Oh, sorry, what did you say?"

He rolls his grey eyes, but repeats himself. "I _said_, aren't you even a _little _nervous? Just a _smidge_?" He demonstrates a 'smidge' by pinching his fingers together in front of his face.

I snort. "Nah. No point- it's the last year either of us can be reaped, and we've been fine up until now. And anyway, we've got a District of battle-crazed thugs from ages twelve to eighteen- even if we did get reaped, which we won't, there's bound to be some kid who is both stupid and bloodthirsty enough to volunteer instead of us, so we won't be in the Games, now and forever, and we can live out the rest of our lives in peace, fishing, making nets and tackles, going out in boats, and we can all do the things people do, get married to people we love, have children, a pet dog, and die happy and fulfilled aged ninety-six with our respective grandkids around." I finish the speech in a single breath.

Eric raises an eyebrow at me. "Well. You're going to be sick."

I punch him in the arm, and force myself to ignore the race of my heart and the empty feeling in my stomach.

Our conversation is cut short when a boy, best described as gargantuan, strides over to us, an ugly grin plastered on his otherwise handsome face. Next to me, Eric groans, and slumps further down against the rock, hissing cusses under his breath. I wish I could instantly become invisible.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" he says, his voice dripping with mock curiosity.

"A platypus and a narwhal, _obviously_," I mutter, "what do you want, Antaeus?"

"Cheap entertainment" Antaeus grins back.

"Really?" retorts Eric, "because I hear there's a woman down Cryer's Cove who let's you watch her Beta Fish fights in exchange for a couple of-"

Eric's comeback is cut abruptly short when Antaeus reaches forward with a ham-sized fist and grabs Eric around the neck, slamming him upright against the boulder. "Watch it, wise guy," he snarls, no longer grinning.

"Antaeus," I cry, jumping in front of him, laying a hand on Eric's chest, "let him go!"

"Oh yeah?" he growls, "_make _me."

Eric's going purple in the face, rasping for breath.

"Antaeus," I repeat, cringing at the desperation in my own voice, "drop him!"

"Is that how you ask?" He grins with perverse enjoyment, "what about the magic word?"

I flush beetroot to the roots of my hair. "What do you want? Just let him go!"

His grin twists into an even wider grotesque smirk. "Say 'please!'"

For a second, I want to punch him in the gut, knee him between the legs, slap him across the face, anything to _hurt _him. But I know I can't. That would make me no better than he is, and anyway, even though all District 4 kids have some basic combat training, Antaeus is something of a homicidal machine, whereas I can just about throw a right hook. Right, swallowing my dignity it is.

"Antaeus, let Eric go. _Please_." I hate myself even as I say it.

"Well, let's see, I-" suddenly he drops him. I rush to Eric, and let him lean on me. He's coughing and spluttering.

"Are you okay? Can you breathe? Did he hurt you? I'm so, so, _so _sorry! Oh, God, Eric can I-"

"You know- urgh- Annie-" he pauses to cough and massage his throat- "I don't know how you expect me to answer any of your questions when I'm too busy-" more coughing, "_choking_." He rolls his eyes again.

"Annie, my dear!" a musical, lilting voice sounds above me, and I know now why Antaeus released Eric so suddenly. A lithe, pretty woman with dark hair and hazel eyes, and a tall, blond, green-eyed man are standing arm-in-arm in front of us. "Mother, Father," I say, for they are my parents, "How are you?"

My mother beams brightly at me. "No, my darling, how are _you_? You must all be so excited!"

"Yes, Mother," I sigh, deadpanning, "the thought of an opportunity to get ripped away from home, thrown into the hands of the people who control, and, let's be frank _oppress_ us, made to dress like a clown on it's wedding day, and then attempt to commit mass murder of anywhere up to twenty-three people my age and under, and either get killed myself or try enjoy killing others…. Yep, I am bouncing up and down for that."

My Mother has, of course, stopped listening and has turned to watch my Father strike up a conversation of his own. "Antaeus," he says amiably, clapping him on the shoulder, "you plan on volunteering, lad?"

"Of course, Mr. Cresta," he says, all charm and smiles now. Eric makes retching motions behind him. I hastily turn a laugh into a cough.

The sycophantic conversation continues for another ten minutes, Eric and I shooting exasperated looks at each other the whole time. Eventually, a bell sounds, and it's time for Victor's speeches. Everybody crowds around the huge bonfire in the middle of the beach, where all District 4's victors are sat on driftwood logs, in the order that they won the games. I recognize every single one. On the farthest left end, there is Mags Connelly, who won the 9th games, our Districts oldest living victor. I see Dylan Fiord, 23rd games, famed for killing nine tributes single-handed. In one go. Andromeda Walsh, 58th games, who used her extensive knowledge of knots to strangle other tributes in their sleep. And at the end, Finnick Odair, 65th games, the youngest victor from our district, a career tribute through-and-through. I watch them all as they wait for the crowds to gather. Some talk amongst themselves, others stare off into space. Mags is humming something, and Andromeda plays with a length of twine. Finnick has some girl on his lap, and he appears to be attempting to consume her face, whilst she has him in some kind of stranglehold clutch. It's sick to watch, I don't know whom I pity more.

"Is that Doris?" asks Eric next to me, with a mild curiosity to his tone.

"I don't know for sure, I think so. It's hard to see through all the slobber."

Eric cracks a grin. "But I could've sworn I saw him doing something similar to Madeline at the docks the other day. And to Ursula, in the market, the day before that."

"Really? Well, his one hundred true loves all live in the Capitol, right? Anyway, let's talk about something more engaging than Odair's dating life, for crying out loud!" I say, laughing.

"No point," replies Eric, shrugging, "speeches are starting."

The speeches start the usual way, with Mags smiling, and murmuring something inaudible, before sitting back down. The rest of them are all different variations of "The Hunger Games are a chance to display the awesome-ness that is District 4, show the rest of Panem that we truly are as amazing as we think, this year's lucky 'honoured' winners had better be brilliant, ("though not as brilliant as _me _obviously" if you're Finnick.) Watching them, I can't help but be glad I'll never have to be up there making speeches.

I say my goodnights to Eric, dodge Antaeus, and join my parents on the way home. I hear their enthusiastic conversation right until I'm in bed. As I go to sleep, I wish more than anything that I wouldn't have to wake up next morning.

* * *

"You know, you'd think this would be the least of our worries," says Eric in the line next to me, "but it still seems like the most unpleasant part." He winces as the needle pricks his finger. I smirk at him.

"Good thing you _haven't _been reaped," I tell him, "fine tribute you'd make, scared of needles."

"Oh, I'm good with swords, arrows, spears and berserk warriors," he replies nonchalantly, pretending to strut, "I draw the line at needles though."

"Hilarious. Good luck, Eric," I say.

He gives me a smile, unusually tender. "Back at you, Annie. See you soon."

He walks off to join the other 18-year-old boys, and I turn to join the girls of our age group. I envy his assuredness, his calm certainty that nothing will go awry. I comfort myself with the knowledge that this is the last reaping I'll have to go through when my life is in danger. Then I see the twelve-year-olds, clammed together, all looking nervous, Careers or not, and feel a surge of guilt. I swallow back my emotions as Caius walks onto the stage. Caius is the District 4 escort. He sports the latest styles from the Capitol- his hair has been brushed and pulled and gelled into a bizarre arrangement of outward facing spikes. Not to mention it has been dyed the colour of a crab. His skin is a deep green, and his face is smothered in waxy make-up. It's terrifying.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," he announces, "delightful to see you all again! I believe it's going to be another fan-_tas_-tic year!" I wince at his irritating sing-song voice, blocking my ears for the rest of the speech. I only unblock them when the previous victors come up. Mags is the only one who looks sad. Some of the others look positively disinterested. Finnick looks bored, and amuses himself by smiling and winking and waving at the crowds. Then the video starts playing. The usual Capitol propaganda, with President Snow's message, the ruins of District 13, the subtext- 'mess not with the Capitol,' as Eric so eloquently puts it.

The video ends, and a beaming Caius springs forwards to the two large bowls full of little paper slips- full of children. "May the _odds _be _ever _in your _fa_vour!" he says. "Ladies up first!"

I feel my vision blur, as Caius makes a big show of everything, squeezing his eyes tight shut, picking up a piece of paper, dropping it back in before looking. I console myself. After all, I'm just Annie Cresta. Things don't happen to me. After what seems like an eternity, Caius settles on a piece of paper.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. That's all I can think. Just one name, just some other Career who actually wants to go in, and I'm safe. Forever safe. Caius unfurls the paper.

"Ah!" He looks delighted. "We have our female tribute- please welcome-" he pauses, drawing it out. I'm safe. I'm safe. Of course I'm safe!

"_Annie Cresta_!"

I've misheard him. I must have. Because I'm just Annie Cresta. These things don't happen to me. But then why, why are my feet moving slow and numb towards the stage. Why is Caius beaming at me, shaking my hand, why are the people applauding?

"And now, for the _gentlemen_!" Caius relishes it. I'm sure he does this in a fraction of the time. "Antaeus Dornell!"

No. No. No. This isn't fair. I can't be- this can't- no-

"I volunteer as tribute!" A voice rings out, tremulous, but clear as a bell. Antaeus freezes, his triumphant beam dissipating from his face. I feel every cell in my body tense.

"A volunteer! Excellent! Come up here, son and tell us your name!"

No. No, don't. Run, turn, and run, and leave this place. Our District is used to volunteers- heavy-built, ruthless tributes that thirst for blood and glory, not volunteers like these. Not volunteers like these. Wiry, black-haired, grey-eyed volunteers who're afraid of needles.

"My name is Eric McKillan." Not volunteers like my best friend.

I am just Annie Cresta, and now, I guess, these things do happen to me.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: Chapter 2, up so soon? I know, I have too much time... Thank you to anyone who followed, favourited or reviewed Chapter 1... more reviews this chapter, pretty please? *sad puppy eyes* Enjoy, R&R!**

Chapter 2

When you dive of the cliffs at Cryer's Cove, there's a moment between time speeding up as you're falling, and time slowing down when you're in the water. In that moment, just as you hit the water surface, everything blurs around you, and you don't know which way is up. I feel like that now. My parents burst into the room. "I'm so proud of you, Annie dear!" my Mother practically sings, hugging me.

"Proud of me?" my voice is flat, and bleak. "I got my name pulled out of a bowl. I'm going into a game of kill or be killed, and we all know where I fall on that. You're proud of me." My parents exchange a glance, give me their final hugs, and leave. Nobody else comes. The only other person I care about is in the next room, saying his own goodbyes. A peacekeeper appears in the doorway, and guides me to a backdoor, which opens onto a train stationary on its tracks. The doors slide open, and immediately, my vision tunnels. Eric stands up when he sees me. "Granted," he says with a wan smile, "when I said I'd see you soon, this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

I walk slowly, deliberately up to him. Then I slap him across the face. "What- were- you- _thinking_?" I spit at him. "How dare you? How _dare _you? Why would you make this worse than it has to be?"

Eric looks sadly at me. "I couldn't let _him _out there with you. At least with me, you'll have _someone _watching your back."

I stare hard at him. "You- you did this to give _me _a shot?"

I raise my arm to slap him round the head, but Eric turns it into a hug. "You, sir, are an idiot," I tell him, "I can't win anyway s-"

"With that attitude," says a voice, "you can't do anything." A tanned, muscular blonde boy- he's really no more than a year older than me- saunters in. He's eating an apple, and leans against the doorframe, giving us a once-over. "Hello Finnick," says Eric, warily.

Finnick ignores him. "Disappointing. I'd hoped for something with a bit more…. _Oomph_!"

Eric and I stare at him blankly. Finnick sighs, and starts walking around us, studying us as though we were blueprints. "The way I see it," he says more to himself than either of us, "there are three ways to win the games. The three Bs, I call them." He stops, and lists them on his fingers. "Brains. Brawns. Beauty. Outsmart the other tributes, kill them before they kill you, or charm the whole Capitol into sponsoring you. You two don't seem to fit any of them at first glance."

"Oh yeah?" I raise an eyebrow, not liking his condescending tone, "and what did you get by on?"

Finnick shoots us a wide beam, displaying his dazzlingly perfect white teeth. "I used a healthy mix of all three of course. The problem is what are _you _two going to get by on."

Before he speaks again, someone else shuffles into our compartment.

Finnick straightens up, and takes her arm. "Mags," he says, his voice softer, sounding genuinely pleased, "I was just acquainting myself with the latest victims."

Eric shoots me a disbelieving glance, whilst Mags gives Finnick a long, reproachful look. "Be nice," she says, and smiles at us.

"Mags and I will be mentoring you this year," says Finnick, as he helps Mags sit down.

"Thrilled. But what about the other victors?" ask Eric, eyeing Mags dubiously, "aren't they going to be mentoring as well?"

Finnick sighs. "Nah, we only really need two. Mags volunteered, so I did as well." He smiles at the old woman.

"_So _nice to see you all acquainted!" trills a voice from the compartment door. Finnick's face darkens, and he mutters something inaudible sullenly. Even Mags's smile falters briefly, but both regain their composure.

"Caius," says Finnick silkily, "a pleasure to work with you. Again."

"The pleasure is _all _mine, I _assure _you my dear Finnick!" Caius turns to us beaming broadly. "So, _you_ are this year's _lucky_ champions!"

"Lucky. Is that what they're calling it?"

Caius stared blankly at me for a second before snapping his fingers and asking for wine. An attendant brings a tray full of crystal glasses filled with dark red liquid, the same shade as spilt blood. Caius takes one and sips elegantly at it. Mags refuses her glass, and Finnick takes two. Eric and I falter for a second. I've only had wine once or twice before, at weddings, and I didn't like the taste.

"Oh go on kids, what doesn't kill you makes you stronger," Finnick says lazily.

"All due respect, Finnick, but should you really refer to us as 'kids?' I mean, you were a year ahead of us in school?" Eric sounds as irritated as I feel.

Finnick leans back in his chair, looking at Eric. "Age isn't all about the years, _kid_." He takes another gulp of wine, before smirking. "That's why Mags here is so spritely."

Caius gives a hysterical giggle, but Mags just smiles fondly at Finnick. "Three," she says. I am confused but Finnick points to the window. Eric and I crane forward with interest. Neither of us have ever been outside 4 of course, so 3 is a surprise. Gone are the pale cliffs and glittering seas of home, the low beachfront houses. Instead there are tall grey apartment blocks, and long, low brick buildings with very few windows. It feels so cramped and small and bleak compared to back home. Home. I feel the air rush out of my lungs as I realize the enormity of my situation- I will never see my home again. Never again will I see the docks, or go out on the fishing boats. Never again will I sit by the rocks and make nets and tackle out of anything I can find. Never again will I dive off the cliffs at Cryer's Cove and into the silky water, losing myself as I push and swim against the waves.

I only realize that tears are forming in my eyes when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It's Mags, and although she's not smiling, there's a kindness in her eyes that makes me want to furl up in a ball so that I'm the size of a baby and burrow myself against her. "Sleep," she says simply, and points me to the direction of my room on the train.

A few minutes after I slump onto my bed, Eric slides the door to my room open.

"Can I come in?"

"No. Go compare your biceps to Finnick's or something."

Eric snorts and comes in anyway.

"What's the matter?" he asks. I give him a look. "Okay, okay, never mind." There's a pause, and after a while, he says: "I miss home too, you know."

I remain silent, before I lean my head on Eric's shoulder. "You know that, since you volunteered, after these games…. We're never going to see each other again."

Eric just puts his arm around me, and we sit there for a long time.

I don't know how many hours later, Caius bounces in. "We're _here _my dears!" Eric and I follow him out of the room into the main compartment. Finnick is leaning out of the window, beaming and waving and blowing kisses. Mags stands behind him, gazing thoughtfully out. I slump against the seat so that I can't be seen.

"Up, up, up, dearie!" says Caius, grabbing my arm. Before I can protest, Finnick turns to us. "Oh, let her be, Caius. It's not like anybody wants to see such a sulky face anyway."

Caius shrugs and lets me go, but it's only ten minutes before we have to get off the train.

"Ready?" Eric's standing beside my shoulder.

"Oh hell no."

We disembark the train.

* * *

"Lucky monsters, that's what they are," Eric mumbles sourly. We've just finished eating our first meal in the Capitol, and as determined as my friend was to hate all things Capitol, there's really nothing left to be desired with the meal we just ate. I'm from District 4, and there were more varieties of fish on that table than I've seen in a whole month's catch. Eric sullenly takes another bowlful of one of the Capitol's strange fruits, all the while cursing Capitol citizens under his breath.

Finnick, who appears to be trying to drink himself into oblivion- though since Caius is talking his ear off about something, I can't say I blame him- suddenly sits bolt upright, apparently still sober, and announces: "Okay, kids the time for games is over- it's time for _The _Games. Now before you two manage to eat so much we have to _winch_ your overweight carcasses from place to place, shall we go admire your murders-to-be?"

"_Finnick_." Mags tilts her head and looks reproachfully at him. He sighs, smiling apologetically, and slips his arm through hers. "Tributes first," he says, and gestures towards the sofas in front of a huge screen. I sit down tentatively on the big sofa, between Eric and Finnick. Mags is on the other side of Finnick, and Caius sits in the overstuffed armchair.

I watch the day's reapings with grudging interest. 1's tributes are sleek-looking and lean. "Built like _pan_thers!" proclaims Caius. District 2 has two volunteers, twins, both are ridiculously muscular, and look like they could snap your neck with two fingers. "It's a like a lion and a lioness!" whispers Caius almost reverentially.

"Yes, because likening other tributes to every member of the big cat family is of optimal help at this point," sighs Finnick, looking as though he wants to kill Caius.

Other tributes that stand out are the burly volunteer from 6 with jaws like a nutcracker, 7's girl with a long gash along one side of her face, and surprisingly, the boy from 9.

Eric gives me a startled look when I point him out to the others. "Really? Because no offence, Annie, but he's the only one who looks more waif-like than you do."

I tut impatiently. "Hilarious, Eric, but that's not why. Just look at his eyes- he looks crazy, unafraid to kill."

Eric shifts uncomfortably. "Annie, everyone in there's going to be unafraid to kill."

"Not me!" I sit up firmly. "I swear I am_ not_ killing anyone."

Finnick stares incredulously at me. "Really? And just how do you plan on getting back home alive without killing anyone?"

"I don't," the response is unplanned, but now I know I mean it, " and certainly not if it means killing people. I'd rather die without blood on my hands, and at least know I'm a good person."

Eric opens his mouth to protest, but I shake my head. "I'm going to bed," I say, getting up, "we've a long day ahead of us, and I want some sleep."

I shuffle along the way to my bedroom- and find Finnick standing in the doorway. I blink. "Um, hi?"

"Do you want to die?" he asks abruptly.

"No, no I don't, but I want to kill even less. I'm not an idiot- I know how these games work. I win or I die, etcetera, etcetera. But like I said, at least I can die with a clear conscience."

Finnick's eyes glint dangerously, and for a moment I can see him as the 14-year-old who won the Games- ruthless and deadly, but maybe, just a touch of vulnerability. "So winning the Games makes you a bad person?" he asks smoothly.

"Well, yes, bec- Oh. Oh, no, that's not what I meant! I'm sorry, I just-"

"Get some sleep, Cresta," says Finnick, and for a moment I think he's going to say something else. Then his face shifts, and the look in his eyes disappears. Callously, he blows a kiss in my direction and slopes of along the corridor. It's a minute before I realize I'm still staring after him.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

**AN: Hey guys, sorry this update's been so long! Anyway, it's here now, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Please Review!**

"Well, Caius _certainly _wasn't understating when he said you needed work!" says Metella, my stylist. She turns to my prep crew. "Alright, folks, who's ready to turn… _this-_" she gestures to me as if I were an insect of minimal value- "into something _spectacular_!" The prep crew clap excitedly, and haul me to the room. They introduce themselves as Cassius, Eros, and Harmonia. Their skins are dyed blue, red and fuchsia respectively, and Harmonia has had her face dotted in piercings, which form a butterfly shape. They strip me naked, and start walking around me, examining me the same way fisherman examine their catch back home. They keep muttering things to each other.

"The hair's a fair colour- the ones from 4 always have these lovely natural highlights, and the brown is nice and dark… I prefer blonde though!"

"Oh, yes, like Finnick- now _he _was a pleasure to work on."

"Couldn't agree more- oh, mercy me, look at the legs, they're positively _spindly_!"

"And _hairy_, oh… the face is nice, though, or it will be with some… _definition_. Yes, offset the green eyes somehow."

"Hmm, that figure, we can work with, but those _elbows_- they're so knobby!"

"Oh, _good lord_, her hands, her hands! Why does 4 always have such _bad _hands? It's all the saltwater and rocks, I _tell _you…"

My prep team seem positively on the verge of utter devastation, until they lay me down on a table, and start putting my body through the worst pain I've ever felt. When I was three, I slipped and fell on the rocks at the pier, and broke five different bones. I think that was more tolerable than this. Every part of my body hurts in a different way at a different place. There's pulling, and threading, and waxing and ripping, and I feel like I've been set on fire. The only thing that gets me through it is the knowledge that Eric's going through exactly the same thing. I can't help but smile when I realise that for him, it's even less dignified.

When they're finally done, my skin feels soft and tender to touch, and I take the robe they give me thankfully, hurriedly wrapping myself in it. My body hardly feels like my own any more- I never spend any time worrying about how I look, and I feel like I've just had to make-up a lifetime's worth of grooming and preening. I feel slightly nervous as I'm led into the room with Metella. She is doubtlessly stylish- for the Capitol- with chrome embellishments to her extravagant magenta gown.

"Now, my dear," she says, beaming, "we've tidied you up nicely, so let's see if the outfit has the desired effect!"

She reaches behind her, and from the table, lifts a dress. I scrutinise it carefully. It's certainly not as bad as the year they had the female tribute in a gold shell bra and a cropped green sarong skirt. In fact, it's quite pretty, and whilst it's more opulent than anything I like, it's certainly tame compared to most Capitol outfits. The dress has thankfully veered away from fish imagery, and gone for more of a suggestion of the ocean. The main body of the dress is long and slim, made out of a silvery turquoise material, the colour of the clear oceans above the coral reefs. There's a floor-length cloak which accompanies it, woven of a dark green cord-like material that suggests seaweed, and interspersed with pearls. The cloak is fastened in front with a large seashell brooch. "It's lovely," I say, "thank you."

"Simple, isn't it?" Metella beams at me. "They showed me your pictures and I just _knew _you weren't going to be able to carry off any of the _really _spectacular stuff, but I thought we could make you look nicely presentable in something more… contained. Though it does suit you well, I must say." Metella clucked around me some more whilst I tried to work out whether to be flattered or offended.

Harmonia helps me change, and hands me a pair of long green gloves to complete the get-up, before allowing Eros and Cassius to arrange my hair into a mercifully simple low bun, with a single braid wound around it.

I feel self-conscious leaving the room, but I feel a little better upon seeing Eric. He's been forced into a green-and-blue checked kilt.

He shoots me a strained smile. "You look nice," he says.

I nod. "The skirt is dashing, by the way."

"Oh shut up."

Finnick and Mags are waiting to give us each the once-over by the stables. Finnick looks smug, clearly aware that he is blindingly gorgeous in his navy blue trousers and his simple white shirt, which he is wearing open over the tanned planes of his chest. "Sorry, McKillan, didn't they tell you there could only be one female tribute per district?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at the kilt.

"Oh, leave him be," I say.

"What, don't you think he should have his man card revoked?" says Finnick to me. "Anyway," he continues, not giving me time to reply, "at least your lower half is covered in the chariot. Now for the whole 'important part.'"

"Finnick." Mags lays a hand on his arm and just looks at him, and he sighs and stops talking, but smiles at her. It's a genuine smile, not the lazy one he flashes otherwise.

Mags turns to me and pats me gently on the cheek. "Beautiful," she says, smiling.

"Thank you," I reply softly. She squeezes Eric's hand, and then we mount the chariot.

"Just smile and wave," says Finnick, "you two aren't exactly spectacular, so just try not to make anyone hate you." Eric rolls his eyes.

I grip the front of the chariot so hard my knuckles turn white. The chariots are lining up. I don't like the sensation of the wheels moving underneath me.

"Loosen _up_, Cresta," hisses a voice next to me. I glance around to see Finnick jogging beside the chariot looking annoyed, "nobody likes a sourpuss." He reaches over and prises my fingers off the chariot. "Smile." Then the chariot pulls away, and we burst out into the light of the parade. The roar of a million people slams against me like a wave, and the sun beats down on my face. "Annie," whispers Eric, "_smile_!" I feel like I want to punch the next person who says that, but I allow a nervous, faltering smile on my face. I raise my hand and wave gingerly at the audiences, whilst checking out the other tributes. Onyx and Amethyst, the tributes from 1, are dressed in robes of black and purple respectively, each one covered in the gems that are their namesakes. Phoebus and Diana from District 2 are both wearing sleeveless shirts, to show off their powerful arms. I look out for the other tributes that struck me. Brunel, the boy from six, has had his muscles oiled so they stand out against his dark outfit. Sylvia, the girl from 7, has had her scar outlined with silver, so it looks like some strange snake coiled up on her face. Bran from 9, however, is the one that again strikes me the most. He is so pale against the festivities of the Capitol that he looks like some lost ghost, and it is terrifying.

Finally, the chariots pull up in front of President Snow's stand, where he makes his usual speech about the glory of the Games and whatnot. Then the chariots pull us back off, away from the crowds, back to where Finnick and Mags are waiting. Mags smiles at us, Finnick sighs. "I hope you two have some secret special talent you're not telling us about," he drawls, "because otherwise, we're screwed."

I shift angrily. "Only if winning was our plan."

He looks hard at me, and I remember our awkward exchange from last night. I suddenly feel very uncomfortable.

"Let's just go," says Finnick, and walks off.

* * *

"A _what_?" asks Eric, looking bemused?

"It's really not that hard, McKillan," sighs Finnick, "a Tribute's ball."

"That's not a thing!" I protest.

"It's the President's 25th year in power this year, and whatever that man wants to do to celebrate, that man will do."

I watch Finnick carefully. He sounds flippant, but his voice is coloured with something else- resentment? _Anger_?

Seeing Eric and I still looking doubtful, Finnick straightens. "Okay, look," he snaps, "I don't care how much you want to martyr yourselves or whatever. You are pawns in these Games, like it or not, and these Games are bigger than you are. If you were the only things at risk here, then I would have gone back home by now, but the fact that I'm still here despite your inclination to give in should really tell you something."

I stare at him. I have never seen Finnick angry before. I always imagined that he was incapable of any reaction more impassioned than a mild irritation, but apparently not. "Go get ready," he mutters, and storms out of the room.

Eric blinks. "What crawled up _his _backside and died?"

"He's right, Eric," I say, "we should go get ready."

Eric nods and slopes off to his room, but I stay where I am for a moment. Finnick said that these Games were bigger than us, that there were others at risk. It strikes me suddenly that the Games are a show, and a reminder of the Capitol's hold over Panem, that the Capitol will do anything to see to it that they go smoothly. If I refuse to participate, refuse to succumb to the savagery, even if I choose to die, they can still hurt me further- they could hurt my family. The cold hand of dread claws at my heart- my parents may not be the best people, they may not understand me, they may even disgust me, but they are my parents nonetheless. My District is my home… if I don't play along with the show, they could do anything to District 4- they literally erased 13. For the first time, I am thankful that Eric is here with me, not far away where he could be used against me. I close my eyes and think. Finnick's right- he knows how to play at the Games and win, and he _must_ have people he cares about too, people he wants to defend. I wander numbly back to my room, and I don the dress laid out for me. I have about half-an-hour before my prep team arrives to do my hair and make-up. I slip out of my room and down the hall to Finnick's. I knock softly on the door.

The door swings open, and reveals Finnick standing in the doorframe. He doesn't have a shirt on, and his hair is tousled, so I've clearly interrupted him in the process of changing. He looks irritated, but has regained his composure. "I know I'm irresistibly gorgeous, Cresta, but could you hold up for five minutes-"

"I want to try," I said quickly, before I could change my mind, "I want to survive."

Finnick leans back slightly and folds his arms, looking at me.

"I'm not going to kill anyone," I continue, "but I don't want to be killed either. I don't want to give the Capitol an excuse to hurt anyone I care about, and that means I have to play their Game."

"Well then," says Finnick, "it's a good thing you have such a spectacular mentor then, isn't it."

He smiles at me then- a real smile.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Hey guys, here's Chapter 4! Not a lot of reviews sadly, please do send them in, they are invaluable, otherwise I'm not sure if you like it or not! Anyway, I hope you enjoy...**

Chapter 4

"Bloody hell." Eric looks amazed as he admires the party that's been set up. Tributes, mentors, gamemakers and the Hoi Polloi of the Capitol all mingle, being friendly before training starts, wherein we'll all go down very different routes. I adjust my dress self-consciously, and Eric shifts nervously in his suit. We follow Mags and Finnick, Mags in a simple cotton dress, Finnick dashing in a bottle green Capitol-style suit. The room is festooned with lights and flowers, and all manner of food and drinks, and the general atmosphere feels like we're celebrating a wedding as opposed to a death match.

"Soak it in my lovelies," trills Caius, beaming.

"It's _enchanting_," replies Finnick, his parody of Caius's accent cruelly accurate.

Caius doesn't notice. "Isn't it _stupendous_?"

"Utterly overwhelming," mutters Finnick drily, "now if you'll excuse me, there's an open bar." He weaves off through the crowds. Mags smiles gently at us before shuffling off towards the chairs at the side.

"So," says Eric, exhaling, "this is… interesting. I mean, not that I'm going to participate. Obviously. But-"

"Oh for goodness sake, if you want to use the buffet, I won't go all morally superior and principled on you."

Eric slopes off guiltily, ashamed to be deriving pleasure from the Capitol. This leaves me standing awkwardly alone. Too embarrassed to just stand there, I decide to make my way through the crowds, and get something to drink, though more so that I have something to do than because I'm thirsty. I reach the bar counter, and see Finnick a little to my right. He's attracting women- and men- like a flame attracts moths. I smile to myself, shaking my head, and sip my juice.

It feels so strange to be sitting here celebrating, when in the morning, my "how-not-to-die" training will commence. I don't understand how some of the tributes look so at ease, so happy-

"Sponsors."

With a start, I look over to see a sleek dark-haired woman next to me. I recognize her instantly- Johanna Mason, victor, and mentor for District 7.

"It's all a pile of crap, isn't it? Look at those careers- all smiles and laughter, like they don't care about their training about to start," she calls them a name that makes me flush, "but don't you believe it. They're all just playing the Game- making themselves popular, gaining sponsors. Frauds, all of them. Wickedly smart frauds." She says this all with the flippant air of someone talking about someone else's children. I don't really know how to reply, but Johanna saves me the effort by continuing to talk. "So you're half of Finnick's lost cause."

I bristle slightly. "Annie Cresta, District four."

She gives a catlike smile. "That's what I said. Don't look so offended; Finnick hasn't been polite about a tribute since his own Games. I'm Johanna, by the way, though you already knew that."

I nod awkwardly. "It's… a pleasure to meet you."

She laughs. "Cut the crap. Anyway, Finnick hasn't given me too many details. What's the scene with you?"

I play with my hands, avoiding her question. "You and Finnick are… um, close?" She can hear my real question, and she gives me one look and then snorts. "You're looking at one of very few women who know Odair and aren't in love with him," she informs me, "Finnick and I go way back, but he's no more than a friend. Why, jealous?"

I know I'm red now. "No, I just wondered."

She smirks and nods. "Well, may the odds be in your favour and all that." She marches off to go talk to someone else, leaving me reeling slightly from our candid exchange.

I look around the room, searching for Eric, but I can't see him through the opulent forest of wigs and dresses. The only person I can see that I recognise is Caius… who is heading in my direction. If there is one thing I don't want right now, it's Caius's conversation. I slip off, looking for an escape into a hallway or something. I slide along the edge of the room, and find a door. Gratefully, I twist the crystal doorknob and slip into the darkened corridor. My eyes adjust to the lack of light, and I make out a series of doors in the wall- and the shadowy outlines of two people. I realise they are moving towards me- also that one is male and one is female, and that the woman has her arm around the male's waist. I decide to wait for them to leave before I seat myself on the floor. The woman leans upwards and whispers something in the man's ear.

As inexperienced as I am, public displays of affection don't bother me as much as they might if I were from another District. In 4, we spend so much time out at sea that it is necessary to be pretty hands-on. We never know when we might have to administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on a stranger, or pull someone out of the water. The most common way for people in our District to say goodbye for any length of time is to kiss on the lips. Having said that, I can see where the encounter I'm witnessing is going, and I feel like I should go, but how to go without them noticing me and me embarrassing myself?

Their voices are close enough to be audible now.

"This is going to be fun," purrs the woman in a coy Capitol accent.

"Doubtlessly, love, but you know the price of my services," answers the male. I stiffen, anxious. That sounds suddenly more sinister. Oh, that, and the fact that the voice belongs to my young mentor Finnick. He and the woman are standing underneath one of the dimly lit light bulbs, and I can see them more clearly now.

"The reward certainly merits the sacrifice," simpers the woman, her manicured talons resting on Finnick's chest.

Finnick smirks. "Pay up then, and after that…"

"You're mine!" The woman grins, and then pulls a slip of folded paper from her cleavage and pushes it against his clavicle. Finnick takes it and pockets it smoothly. The woman reaches up and wraps her legs around him.

I turn hurriedly for the door, and give a muffled gasp of horror. The woman doesn't notice but Finnick does, and he glances sharply upwards. For a moment, his wide green-blue eyes stare directly into mine. Then I burst back into the party room and slam the door behind me.

* * *

"Are you okay, Annie?" Eric blinks in a concerned way. "You look a little… shaken."

"I'm fine."

Eric frowns. "_Really_? You're going to 'I'm fine' _me_? Me, your best friend that can, like, see into your soul and stuff?" He nudges me. "Go on, spill."

I shake him off. "Just nervous for tomorrow."

I can practically hear his disbelief rolling off him, but he drops the issue.

I'm trying to fathom what I just saw. I know Odair's known for being something of a rogue, but the fact that he would do something so… seedy is disturbing. The person I had thought I would teach me how to survive is one that literally sells himself… how can I trust him with me? Or with Eric? Panic seizes me, and I mutter some excuse about tiredness and struggle through the cloying crowds intending to go back to my quarters and find my path blocked by the last person I want to see right now.

"Excuse me," I mutter, keeping my head bent and trying to step around him.

"Care to dance, Cresta?" His voice is tight but calm.

I shudder involuntarily, and he steps closer to me. "One dance, Cresta, I promise."

He takes my hand and leads me to the dance-floor. He's ignores my slight resistance, and turns me to face him, arranging my hands carefully, one on his shoulder, one clasping his right hand. He then rests his left hand on my waist, and pulls me so close that his chin hovers right next to my ear.

"What are you doing?" I hiss.

"Giving us a chance to talk," he whispers back.

"I don't want to talk," I say firmly, "please let me go."

He sounds angry. "I know what you think you saw-"

"Think I saw? Looked pretty clear to me. But what you do to earn pocket money is no concern of mine-"

"I know you imagine I enjoy the…"

"Prostitution?" I supply.

"And you think I do it for my own gain."

"Looks that way. Can I go now?"

"Just _listen_, motor-mouth, and we might get somewhere."

I remain stiff in his hold but say nothing.

"I was fourteen when I won the Games-"

"I know that. We _all_ know that. They gave you the trident and the metal net, didn't they? Most expensive gifts of the games weren't they? That's fabulous, though unnecessary to hang onto them now, don't you think, considering the extra income?"

Finnick's grip on my hand grows painfully tight. I flex my fingers, and he slackens his grip, but his jawline is more taut than I have ever seen it before.

To his credit, he continues the story as if nothing happened. "I'm good-looking. I'm strong. I played those Games like nobody else. I have more sponsorship money than just about every other tribute put together, and I am the darling of the Capitol. I know it's true, and you know it's true, so let's not edge around it. When I got back, nobody could get enough of me. They loved me more than anything else."

He pauses, and in that pause, his chin brushes my temple. "It was suffocating, really. Back at home I'd been popular, sure, but not like this. I was surrounded by all these people who loved the idea of Finnick Odair, but that knew next to nothing about _me_. I was like a prize- the most valuable prize in the world.

"It wasn't hard to see, and sure enough, powerful people picked up on it- people as powerful as President Snow. He noticed the way people fawned over me during the victory tour, and he approached me at the banquet on the last day."

His voice hasn't risen above a whisper, and I've stopped breathing altogether.

"He told me he had a job for me, a richly-rewarded job that would set me apart even amongst victors. He told me then that the seemingly perfect society of the Capitol was fragile, and it hid twisted things, things that could shatter everything if they came to light. He told me that to retain the balance of the system, he needed to know the darkest parts of it through-and-through.

"He asked me then to collect people's secrets, and he told me in no uncertain terms what I would have to do to get them. I refused." Finnick is silent again.

"Why are you telling me this?" I breathe.

"I'm your mentor, and you've decided that you want me to actually do my job. Even if I'm not supposed to help you win, just to survive and play, it will be hard. I will need you to trust me, Annie, and with this whole debacle hanging in the air, I doubt you'd feel particularly comfortable, am I right?"

I stay quiet, allowing him to continue.

"I refused his offer flat. I certainly had my pride, not to mention a few principles left, however meager. I wouldn't have considered it no matter how much he offered to pay. The President didn't even falter. He just started talking about Mags, and how he knew how fond I was of her, how much she helped me, what a wonderful woman she was. Then he just stated simply that she would be killed if I didn't comply. He started saying similar things about my family, my friends, our District. I was nervous, but I didn't totally believe him. That is, not until my parents came back from a fishing trip with spear guns through their chests. Nobody was sure what had happened or why- nobody except me that is. I had my first customer on my fifteenth birthday." He gives a small snort, "he was dull as ditchwater though- not much political intrigue to retrieve there."

I pull back slightly, and stare up into his face. In the lights of the dance-floor, his features are covered with purplish shadows, and his expression is hard, distant. "I'm sorry," I whisper.

"I'm the Capitol's lapdog," he says, his voice tinged with disgust, "because I don't fight." His face softens slightly, and he looks almost apologetic. "I don't fight, and I expect you to." He gives another snort of laughter.

I'm stunned. I am looking at Finnick, the callous 19-year-old, but I am finally starting to see him as he really is.

"I know you don't want my pity, Finnick," I say haltingly, "and I don't want to give it. But I just want you know…" I falter- his gaze is more intense, more watchful than ever… "I understand, why you do what you do. And I am so sorry for making judgments, and I won't ever do that again and-"

He raises an eyebrow, and smiles slightly more widely than before. "Steady on, Cresta, I'd probably be worried if you of all people weren't judging me for this! No need to give yourself an ulcer."

I smile faintly. "Well, I guess you're right. Anyway, I just want…. I understand. And thank you- for confiding in me."

He nods, still smiling. It's not until he lets go gently that I realise he was still holding me. My hands are clammy where they held him. I smile quickly at him once more.

I think he says "goodnight, Annie," but it's so quiet, I might have imagined it.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Yup, another chapter up that soon! You don't have to thank me... but some reviews would be nice *hint hint* PLEASE REVIEW guys... I know you're out there, but I'm sad and lonely here... 2 reviews for 5 chapter? Even, if I suck, at least let me know why! If you like it, then let me know! Pretty pretty please... Finnick will give reviewers sugar cubes. Okay, now that's done... voilà!**

Chapter 5

The trainer, Atala's opening speech is anything but welcoming. She delivers us horrifically graphic account of the many ways in which we could die, and the probability of each. Then she packs us off to go practice a mixture of survival skills and how to kill each other at different stations.

I remember my early morning coaching with Finnick.

"You're not a fighter, and now's not the time to become one," he said, pacing around me, unusually serious, "stick to the ones that can keep you alive a little longer. You're most certainly a defensive player."

Eric was with Mags- we had had to split up for individual coaching since training had started, and it felt weird and uncomfortable to be separated from Eric, but it let Finnick make some much-needed progress with me.

"Anything you can do, I need to know now," Finnick had said, facing a wall.

"I can swim," I said. Finnick gave me the look. Being from 4, this went without saying.

"Anything else?" he asked.

I considered for a moment. "I'm a good runner. And I'm a fairly adept rock-climber - I always climbed down at Cryer's Cove."

Finnick nodded. "I love the Cove." We reminisce in companionable silence for a moment before Finnick blinks. "Right- focus. Those are good skills, but predictable, considering your background with the sea. Don't reveal too much about your abilities. If you do-"

"I'll be pegged as an easy target. They'll use it against me. I'll stick to the less specialised stations, and at try not increase their advantages if anything."

Finnick looked approving. "Tactical thinking. Keep it up, Cresta."

I think about that now as I survey the room. The most dangerous-looking tributes are at the stations for combative training- they're battling instructors with maces, swords, knives- an entire arsenal of weaponry at their disposal. I veer decidedly away from them and towards the knot station. Knots are something I know, something familiar. More importantly, its something everyone will already be aware I know. No surprises now means no advantages for other tributes later.

"Reminds you of home, doesn't it?" I didn't see Eric come up behind me.

I smile wanly. "Yup. Literally our last _tie _to home."

Eric groans. "That one was bad, even for you."

"What do you mean, _even _for me?" I pick up a half-meter length of rope, and start to twist it into a sailor's knot between my fingers. The feeling of the coarse twine against the slightly calloused skin of my fingertips is familiar and therapeutic. I feel the tension ebb slightly out of my shoulders, and I focus on the knotting. I undo the knots when I'm finished and start new ones.

"That's great, Annie, but don't you think it might be helpful to try something you _don't _already know how to do?"

I sigh, and pocket the rope, but we move over to the station about edible plants. It's useful, though the only message seems to be "don't touch the berries." We proceed to drift through the camouflage station, the navigating station and the station about sourcing water. Eric explores the climbing station, but I only use it a little bit- I'm a weaker tribute, no need to reveal what skills I do have.

I feel the calculating stares of the Careers on me- they each study every opponent, deciding how best to kill them. I glance at them to, making my own judgments. The tributes from 1 and 2 are fighters, bloodthirsty and confrontational. I imagine their instinct will be to root out the stronger opponents first- they'll leave weaklings like me to the end. I just have to stay out of their way for as long as possible. Sylvia and Bran look harder. They're tactical players- they'll wait for the point when the Careers turn on each other, to save themselves most of the dirty work. But they won't go looking for opponents either, I don't think so. A strategy begins to form in my head- stay hidden for as long as possible. Whichever way the other tributes move, I go the opposite. Defensive play has to be my weapon if I have no other. I look down to find I have been twisting subconsciously at the rope again, knotting it tightly.

* * *

"Okay?" Mags's face is soft and open, but lined with concern.

"They're going to kill us," states Eric simply, "could you please pass the salad?"

Mags shakes her head and puts her hand over his. "Chin up."

Eric smiles at her, and so does Finnick. The latter then turns to Eric and I. "Did you glean anything useful from your experience?"

Eric shrugs. "It turns out that pine needles can be used to heat up and shove down your trousers in case of hypothermia because of their waxy coat. Oh, and blue berries will most probably kill you. Apart from that, nope, not much." Finnick ignores him.

I finger the rope in my pocket. "Our strategy has to be entirely defensive. If we keep hidden, the other tributes won't come looking for us. It will give us more time and make it look like-" I stop abruptly, but I can tell that Finnick knows what I was about to say- make it look like we're fighting.

Eric doesn't know my convoluted plan yet. I know he will want to get me out, it's why he volunteered, but I have another agenda, one I haven't disclosed to anyone. I will play the Capitol's Game, but only if it means there's a chance I can help Eric win. He shouldn't even be here, he wouldn't have come if it weren't for me, and I need to get my best friend out alive. But I don't know if I could kill to do it. He wouldn't want me to, that's for sure…

"Hey, Annie? Annie? _Annie_?"

I blink out of my reverie at the sound of Finnick's voice calling my name. It's strange to hear how familiarly he says my name now- no more "Cresta," like he's my trainer, but "Annie," with a layer of some sort of sincerity that makes it sound like he's known me my whole life. Our intensely honest conversations of the past few days have clearly broken some barriers between us. The change is strange, but I find it pleasant, for some reason. "Yeah? Sorry, I zoned out for a minute. No, I was just saying, the Careers won't waste their time looking for us straight off the bat, and the others will be hiding from the Careers. We should be able to last a while if we keep our heads down." I knot the rope around my wrist.

Finnick cracks a grin. "Ah yes, Careers. Get straight down to the glamorous stuff."

Eric raises an eyebrow at him. "So sheesh-kebabing other kids with your trident was what you considered 'glamorous'?"

Finnick's expression becomes serious. "Hey, I'm alive and sitting here today, and even though I didn't like killing other kids, I liked the prospect of death even less. Rule number one for the arena- know your priorities."

Eric slouches back in his chair, but says no more. The atmosphere at the table is soured now. Eric gets up. "'Night," he says to me, and then he squeezes Mags's shoulder and walks off to his room.

Finnick gets up, kisses Mags on the cheek, and then nods goodnight at me. Mags studies me carefully. "Eric?" she asks.

"He's my best friend- he's better than any brother I could have had. He volunteered so he could… die for me. I _have _to protect him." I feel my throat contract.

Mags doesn't tell me that everything will be alright, or that I worry too much- she knows that's a lie. She cups my face in her hands and says: "Breathe." Then she walks slowly off to her room, and I go to mine.

It's not until I've showered, changed, and sat on the bed that I realise the rope is still tied around my wrist. I fiddle with it a little, then after a moments thought, dig around in the pockets of the clothes I wore the day I left home. Sure enough, I find two big shells. I always pick up any interesting shells I find. I find some scissors in the bathroom and cut off some of the rope. Then I unwind the twine so it is only a few cords thick. I proceed to break the shells so I have about five or six pieces, and then I pierce a hole in each and thread it onto the cord. I've made a shell necklace like the ones we used to make as kids, and smiling ruefully as I think of home, I put it on. I pick up the rest of the rope and start knotting it again.

"What _are _you doing?"

I jump to see Finnick standing in the doorway. "Sweet Lord, Finnick, you scared ne."

He gives a lopsided smile. "Well, I got your pulse racing for sure."

I feel myself turn an unattractive shade of red. "Oh, shut up," I mutter.

His grin stays on his face. "You didn't answer my question- what are you doing?"

I look down at my hands to see the knotted length of rope. "Channeling my nervous energies."

He looks strangely at me.

"What?" I feel suddenly defensive. "It works- you try it!"

He raises an eyebrow at me, but walks over and sits on the bed beside me, reaches over and plucks the rope out of my hand. I can feel the warmth of his fingers as they brush mine. "Nice necklace," he says.

"Thanks."

I watch as Finnick begins twisting the rope. It comes as naturally to him as it does to me. "So," he says, looking up at me, but still knotting the rope, "what's behind the long face?"

"Huh?"

He cocks his head to the side. "Well, I know you're a pensive person Annie, but the amount of melancholy stares into space seemed a bit much even from you today. As my mentor, it's my job to make sure you're as mentally stable as possible before entering the arena. As little old Finnick, it's my job to satisfy my own natural curiosity. So I repeat- what's wrong?"

I take a deep breath. "You know how I want to survive for a while so the Capitol don't think I'm being rebellious and hurt the ones I love?"

"Ye-e-s."

"Well, there's someone I need to do even more to protect."

Finnick's expression is wary. "Don't tell me? Tragic boyfriend back home that's going to launch an assassination attempt on President Snow if you die?"

I give him a look. "_No_. Eric. He volunteered to protect me but-"

Finnick stiffens slightly. "But you want to protect him and get him out."

I look at my hands. "It'll be hard-"

"Hard?" Finnick sounds exasperated. "No, Annie, keeping _you _alive will be _hard_. Helping Eric win will be impossible!"

"And why is that?" I snap.

"Because he doesn't want to win! To win would be to see you die, and he won't allow that to happen- that's why he's here at all!"

I stand up, fuming. "So that's it? I have to go in there knowing that thanks to me, my best friend is going to _die_?"

Finnick has assumed a kind of trembling, quiet rage. "I can't imagine it will bother you too much once you're dead as well!"

There is a stunned silence. I stagger backwards. I'm not sure why his words hurt me so much- they're nothing but the truth- but I feel like all the air has been punched out of my lungs.

Finnick's face blanches as the inexplicable flare of anger ebbs out of him. "Annie- I'm sorry… I just…"

I wipe my palms against my leg. "It's okay. It's the truth. I don't…" I look up at Finnick, and there it hits me. I'm going to die and so is Eric. All thanks to me.

I sit numbly on the bed. Finnick is watching me, his features softened with concern. "I'm sorry," he repeats, and from the sound of his voice, I don't doubt it. "It's just… I thought the deaths I'd be responsible for were over with my Games, and-"

I don't know why, but at the point, I reach forward and hug him. Briefly, tightly, and hesitantly, there's a slight hug back. I brake away and wipe fiercely at my eyes. "It's okay. I'll work it out."

He gets up to go, but looks back for a moment. "_We'll _work it out." Then he's gone. Only five minutes later do I see he's taken my rope with him. I fall asleep clutching at my necklace.


End file.
